


at the consulting detective's side

by whispered



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aging, Developing Relationship, Growing Old Together, John is patient and kind, M/M, and Sherlock can be just the same.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispered/pseuds/whispered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bit boring, that," John says, pressing his chin against the curve of Sherlock's skull, smiling soundly to himself as if he figured out everything in the world that there is to figure out, "being without you and all."</p>
            </blockquote>





	at the consulting detective's side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selenachevalier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenachevalier/gifts).



> Aging is a slow and steady climb. Dying is a psychological acceptance. 
> 
> It is rather beautiful when it is done with someone else at your side.

Sherlock's set on the floor, legs spread out in front of him with his back to the base of the sofa. To his left is an empty coffee cup and pen, and to his right is a stack of books on things such as the anatomy of the human brain and a psychological disorder guide. He is the epitome of chaos and disorder with his hair a mess and his shirt inside out and the silent fact that he has not yet to move in eight hours straight. Sooner or later it will either be the battle between nature's fury for release in a bathroom or the solid fact that his nicotine patches are only half a meter away.  
  
He's fairly sure of his surroundings. John has been in and out twice and Mrs. Hudson just the same. Mycroft has texted three times and he thinks - rather, he _knows_ \- Lestrade has sent two additional ones. But right now, propped in his hands is documentation on psychological theories on autism and it just involves too much of his brain where he can't just leave it.  
  
Maybe forty-four minutes later, John comes in the sitting room with two cups of tea. The first replaces Sherlock's on the floor and the other is set on John's knee as he takes a spot behind Sherlock, set on the sofa with one leg on either side of Sherlock's shoulders.  
  
Sherlock looks up and John merely shrugs and leans back against the cushions.  
  
It’s nice things are at least this simple in some areas of life.  
  
Otherwise Sherlock would want to delete it.  
  
*  
  
It's maybe twenty-eight weeks later when they first share a bed. Being ever the idiot, Sherlock has fallen into the Thames after chasing a bloody automobile thief and John, well, John is not going to let Sherlock live this one down. Nope - not ever. You can jump into the Thames if it was for mummy, or Mycroft, or Lestrade or even John, but not ever a simple burglar because well:  
  
"You're a bloody idiot, Sherlock," John says, passing him a towel.  
  
Sherlock's bare and crowded under a cover that has been produced from somewhere. The towel is then set on his head as John begins to try and dry the younger's lengthy hair. It's due for a cut he supposes and he really ought to get to his own hair too - the gray is becoming obtuse.  
  
Sherlock looks up at John and there are words he does not say littered across his face. John's not a consulting detective but he's smart enough and he sees it - sees it all over the younger's face and he smiles, despite it all, and lets his hands drop to his side.  
  
"What am I going to do with you, Sherlock?"  
  
"Leave?"  
  
The question mark is there for a reason. Sherlock knows everything except for John and of all the things he could be ashamed of - this is not one of them.  
  
John only laughs, shakes his head and presses a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. It is the first (of many) and he lets Sherlock settle into bed first before climbing in just behind the younger. There is no kissing or love making but John's hand settles on Sherlock's hip bone and Sherlock suddenly discovers that there is a new way to make fire.  
  
"If I ever leave, Sherlock, I'm going to have to take you with me."  
  
"Why is that, John?"  
  
"Bit boring, that," John says, pressing his chin against the curve of Sherlock's skull, smiling soundly to himself as if he figured out everything in the world that there is to figure out, "being without you and all."  
  
Sherlock lets the jealously that John's figured out everything before him subside and instead he focuses on the fact that life is starting to finally make sense.  
  
*  
  
They have Chinese on a cold's winter night when all the electricity goes out. John lights the bathroom with candles and starts the water down the drain until it is warm enough to plug. It's dull, at most, and they can only make out the edges of each other's bones in all the odd angles as Sherlock settles into the flood of water and John sits on the rim.  
  
They talk of anything and everything and the atmosphere changes very little until John dips his hand into the water and leans across to kiss Sherlock on the lips.  
  
John's always been a daring man and Sherlock loves an experiment.  
  
Sherlock does not say: _I've never done this_ and _am I doing this right_ and _is this even what you want John?_  
  
He does not say those things because he trusts John and John's hand is running through his hair and for the first time since he's discovered cocaine and cases and murder, well, all of this - all of this that revolves around John - feels really, _really_ good.  
  
Sherlock stays in the water until he's got prune-like fingers and John never leaves his side.  
  
Is that even a choice at this point in time?  
  
*  
  
"You're crazy."  
  
"And you're just catching onto this now?"  
  
"Nope," John says, laughing and shaking his head. He can barely keep up with the present moment as he just grins and grins and grins. "Knew it forever. Just a rash reminder you've got here for me."  
  
"Problem?"  
  
John smiles and he should say something like: _God, no._ But instead he grips at Sherlock's scarf and pulls him close and kisses him until Sherlock's smiling too and they're both smiling and it's now: _God, yes, yes, yes._  
  
It's not really a proposal, really, and there won't be a name change, an expansive honeymoon, or anything crazy of that nature. It's just that:  
  
A reminder.  
  
*  
  
Sherlock refuses to retire. He can't - he won't. He needs stimulation and he can't give in to society's rules and stipulations.  
  
He plays the violin late into the night and keeps with cases and does experiments that boggle John's mind. He doesn't eat much, sleep much, and he's still the same Sherlock that he was ten years ago - twenty years ago - even longer.  
  
It's John who calls for retirement first though. It's not in words, but it's in the way that it takes him longer to walk up the stairs and the way that he closes his eyes in the middle of a case discussion as if he lacks the energy to even carry on. It's the way that John looks, as if he’s finally grasping time for the first time in his life and he knows that there is not much of it left.  
  
Sherlock cannot deny John anything so they go on for three or four more months before he tracks down Mycroft and demands a portion of his trust fund.  
  
He wants only the best for John and he will give him that. So help him he will give this man anything and everything and more because by now, yes, by now, Sherlock knows:  
  
John's already given all of himself to the consulting detective.  
  
*  
  
It's boring at first. It's boring for a long time.  
  
They fight a lot and John throws a plate against the wall. He has to learn to control his anger all over again but it's so hard when Sherlock complains and is bored, bored, bored.  
  
And then they figure things out. Sherlock keeps bees and they travel the countryside and slowly, so, so slowly, Sherlock learns to just jog instead of run and he smiles more than he frowns. He learns that he's already lived enough of his life and now it's time to live some of John's life too.  
  
It's at that point that Sherlock crawls into their bed and pulls John close and says nothing at all but John gets it and sobs into the curve of Sherlock's neck.  
  
They're old and graying and they're so beautiful that someone has to cry for them.  
  
*  
  
They don't die yet, no. Sherlock uses a cane and John's gone blind in the right eye. They travel together, side by side, and take daily walks through the greenery by their cottage. It's a snail's pace, really, and they can only go out in the open sunlight once or twice a day before Sherlock's just too tired and the blinding light causes John distress.  
  
They take shelter on the porch of their cottage and John pens things here and there. Sherlock just faces the world set out in front of him and holds onto John's free hand as if he knows that death is upon the both of them. He shouldn't be jealous, really - he's had a good life - both of them have - but he's not ready to let go of the man to the left of him.  
  
"I wish I could have given you more, John." Sherlock says that day, eyes focused forward and fringe tucked across his eyes - he really does need a trim.  
  
John sets his pen down, lifts Sherlock's hand and kisses the palm of it, smiling afterwards. "Shush you," John says, cupping Sherlock's hand in his own as tenderly as a mother would a child to her breast. "Did age cause you to be sentimental?"  
  
Sherlock swallows and shakes his head. "No, you did."  
  
It is truth enough for the both of them to drown in and John pulls Sherlock close so he can sob into the doctor’s chest.  
  
It's almost time for their next great adventure. Sherlock's not sure where it will be and when it will be, but he knows that he will fight heaven and hell - above and below - to make sure that this man is at his side through all of it.  
  
"I would not want to be in this world without you, Sherlock," John says, face pressed into the fluff of the detective's hair, "I would not trade this life for anything."  
  
Sherlock swallows his words and simply buries himself into the curve of John's body.  
  
He'd always thought he'd have the last word but John's are so eloquently put that there's no use in trying.  
  
*  
  
They die together and somewhere in the darkness of the future, Sherlock pulls John close and keeps him pressed to his heart and never, ever lets go.  
  
John stays there.  
  
Just _there_ , right by the consulting detective’s side.


End file.
